


Close To Ever After

by oldenuf2nb



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 02:09:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldenuf2nb/pseuds/oldenuf2nb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry Potter finds he’s been cursed, he withdraws from the world and prepares to die. But when have things ever gone the way Harry Potter planned?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close To Ever After

“Daddy, tell us a story.”

Harry Potter had entered his home and was standing with his cloak extended toward the coat rack when he heard the high, clear voice make the request. They were in the sitting room. He could see the firelight flickering on the walls and smell the scents of cinnamon and chocolate in the evening air. The scents of home.

“A story?” A deep voice responded, and Harry smiled. He loved the voice, with its posh accent and aristocratic pronunciation. “A story _and_ cocoa? What makes you believe you deserve such luxury?” He was teasing, but Harry doubted the children understood the distinction. 

“We’ve been so very good,” A second childish voice said, softer than the first. “We picked up the toys and everything.”

“So you did.” There was a much embellished, long-suffering sigh.

“You planning to hang that up?” the coat rack asked, giving Harry an impatient nudge, “or just hold it all day?”

Harry scowled and draped the cloak over one arm, shushing the impudent piece of furniture. There were a number of rude, outspoken furnishings in the old house. It was all part of its ‘charm’. Harry smirked and edged toward the double doorway, listening. 

“All right. I suppose a story it is, then.”

A chorus of high pitched cheers met the announcement, and Harry was once again both surprised and amused that two small children could make so much noise.

“Assume the position,” the deep voice ordered, and he grinned, imaging them scuttling into place on the thick oriental carpet before the fire, bath scrubbed faces shining, little hands clutching their mugs of cocoa.

“What story shall it be, then?”

“The Prince and the Hermit,” the higher of the two voices requested, and the man groaned playfully.

“Don’t you ever tire of that one?”

“No!” the little girl responded. “It’s so romantical.”

In the entry, Harry smiled.

“Well, it most assuredly is that,” the deep voice said. “What about you, young sir? What would you like to hear?”

“I like that one, too,” the shyer child said.

“You do? And why is that?”

There was a short pause, and Harry could imagine him chewing his lower lip. “Well,” he began hesitantly. “The Hermit is a very powerful wizard, isn’t he?”

“He is,” his father replied. “The strongest ever.”

“I like stories about powerful wizards. As long as they’re good. And he is good, isn’t he Daddy?”

“Very, very good,” came the answer, and in the entryway Harry’s chest filled with warmth. “He is the very best wizard who ever lived.”

There was another pause, and Harry could imagine long, pale fingers carding through glossy pale blond strands. “All right then,” Draco began, and Harry took a tentative step closer to the doorway, and to the beloved voice. “Once upon a time there was a handsome prince. So handsome was he that all of the men in the world envied him. One night, angered by his beauty, a group of ruffians decided to do him ill…”

Pausing just outside of the door, Harry grinned. He didn’t remember it _quite_ that way --

~*~

 _When he’d been a boy, Diagon Alley had been a place of wonder. It was his first real contact with the wizarding world, and the sheer amount of magic coursing through the air had made him feel giddy. He’d loved every idiosyncratic shop, each eclectic bauble._

_Now, he never went there. Ever._

_Instead, he lurked in the dark corners and dingy back passages of Knockturn Alley, and only late at night when there was no moon and it was at its darkest. After all, no one in Knockturn Alley looked twice at a man swathed in black from his head to his feet, with half of his face covered. There were many in the alley who had much to lose if they were recognized; he wasn’t the only one. Only his motivations were different. They didn’t want anyone to see them there – he didn’t want to see horror in anyone’s eyes._

_It was October, and the nights had already turned cold. He pulled the cloak closer around his shoulders as he moved through the shadows, his step purposeful. His muscles felt loose and yet energized, a result of the recent orgasm he’d enjoyed in the mouth of a young male whore. A relationship was no longer an option, but at twenty nine he was a man in his sexual prime, and his own hand provided only so much relief. He allowed himself this indulgence once a month, and even though he never uncovered his face the rent boys were happy enough to take his gold. The one tonight had been especially appreciative of his cock and Harry had come hard; he’d have to search out the slender blond again._

_He passed an alley, and felt an odd pressure in his ears. Instantly alert, he stopped and leaned back against the brick wall, searching through the gloom toward the darkest corner behind the grubby building. There was a wall out of place, he noted, irregular, like a poorly painted set piece for an inexpensively mounted play. He’d spent three years in Auror training and three more in the field once he’d been certified; he recognized shoddy wand work when he saw it._

_Moving stealthily around the corner, his back still pressed to the cold bricks, he freed his wand from the black leather holster strapped to his forearm and lifted it to shoulder height. _“Revelio,”_ he murmured. _“Finite Incantatem”_._

_Instantly the sound of ragged cries split through the darkness as the irregular wall faded away. Harry narrowed his eyes and was able to make out four men, none of them more than seventeen or eighteen, who had their wands trained on a fifth. He was lying amidst the garbage over flowing from a nearby bin, and he was writhing in agony as the others laughed._

_“Come on, mate,” one of the hoodlums, taller than the others, said. “My old grannie could do better’n that.”_

_“Fine,” the one holding the curse said, irritated. “You have a go then, if you’re so bloody gifted.”_

_“Think I will,” the tall one answered, his bearing cocky. “After all, only the best for our pureblood friend here. Isn’t that right?” He leveled a kick at the man on the ground, who’d been gasping. He cried out when the heavy boot connected with his spine, curling in on himself defensively. “Only the best for Draco Malfoy, eh?”_

_Harry stiffened. ‘Oh, God’, he thought, alarm chilling him. He took a silent step closer, fighting the urge to hex them all straight to hell._

_“Let’s have some real fun, yeah?” the tall one sneered. _“Crucio Maximus!”_._

_“No!” Harry gasped, wand pointed instinctively as the captive screamed and writhed and his torturers laughed. The hood covering the man on the ground fell back, and even in the dim, dirty light his hair shown white gold. Knowing the spell would either kill him or drive him mad in a matter of minutes, Harry stepped out of the shadows and leveled his wand._

__“Expelliarmus!”_ he shouted, and four wands, plus the one he recognized as Malfoy’s, flew neatly into his outstretched hand. _

_Silence but for broken sobs fell as the four young men turned, their eyes wide. Harry’s first instinct was proven correct – they all looked painfully young. He sneered. The vicious little bastards._

_“What the fuck?” the ring leader shouted, full of bravado even in the face of a wand pointed at his head. “Give me back my wand, fucker!”_

_“Oh, I don’t think so,” Harry said, his voice deep and gravelly. He sleeved Draco’s wand, then bound the four wands of the assailants together with copper wire issued from the end of his. When that was done, he tossed them easily onto the overhanging roof. “Go fetch them.”_

_“You interfering son of a bitch!” the tall one shrieked, taking a step toward him. “You’ll be sorry you did that!” He turned to his friends. “Come on, mates. Let’s show this arsehole what happens when you mess with us.”_

_Two looked disinclined to follow him, but the other fell in behind their leader’s shoulder as they approached._

_Harry stepped from the shadows and into a patch of watery moonlight, letting them see him clearly for the first time. He knew he made an imposing figure, dressed all in black, half of his face covered with a mask. The leader hesitated, bravado shaken._

_“So, what are you then, eh?” he asked. “Some sort of masked avenger? What, like a Muggle comic hero? Or just some washed up old Death Eater?”_

_The brat laughed when Harry didn’t approach, some of his youthful swagger returning. His companions expressions wavered from frightened to grudging admiration for their friend. ‘Well, time to fix that’, Harry thought, and pointedly held the ring leaders gaze and holstered his wand._

_“Ah, not a comic hero, then.” The boy smirked. “Just a fucking busy body, poking his nose into other people’s business.” Small, beady eyes hardened. “So, what’re you going to do then, if I do this?” Two steps took him back to where Draco lay, alarmingly still and silent. The thug pulled back his foot, taunting._

_Harry stood with his hands at his sides, his gaze steady even as his heart pounded._

_“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Nuthin.” He sneered and drew back his foot even further, his intent clear._

_Harry didn’t need his wand for this. There were certain kinds of magic he’d been able to perform wandless since the war; any of the more physical spells. Or, ironically, the dark ones._

_With a negligent twitch of his fingers the boy’s foot, headed for Draco’s exposed head, stopped as if grabbed in an unseen hand. Startled, he cried out, wobbled wildly on one leg, then crashed hard onto his arse. “What the fuck?” he shouted, then shrieked when Harry muttered _Levicorpus_ , and he was lifted into the air and hung there, upside down._

_“He din’t pull no wand,” someone muttered, but Harry didn’t break eye contact with his target. He lifted his hand and the dangling boy gasped, thrashing wildly as Harry lifted him higher, then higher still, until he was at least fifteen feet above the ground._

_“Have you any idea,” Harry said conversationally, “how much damage would be done if I, say, immobilized your arms –,” the boys flailing arms snapped to his sides as if they’d been bound there, “ – and then dropped you on your head? The fall wouldn’t take long, but the entire time you hung there, you’d know you were going to die.”_

_Harry saw the wild eyes flick briefly behind him, and he drew his wand and pointed it over his shoulder without turning to look. “Stop,” he growled, and he heard a squeak. He allowed himself a grim smile. “Don’t be stupid. If I don’t mind killing him I’ll have no problem killing you.” He peered over his shoulder and saw one of the attackers backing away, his hands raised palm out near his ears. “Smart lad.” Harry’s gaze swiveled back to his captive and he walked forward slowly. “Suddenly it’s not so entertaining to beat the shite out of an unarmed man, is it?” He asked, his voice rough. “Takes all of the fun out of it, yeah? And if I were to say, _crucio_ you like that. You’d probably piss yourself, and it would end up running down your neck and into your face. Shall we see?” He lifted his wand._

_“No, no!” the thug cried out. “I’m sorry, all right? I’m sorry. We din’t mean nuthin. Merlin, it’s just bleedin’ Malfoy!’_

_Harry’s hand tightened around his wand. “Wrong thing to say, mate.”_

_He made a slashing motion, and the boy plummeted toward the cobblestones. His scream rent the night air. Negligently, Harry made another motion and stopped him just before his head connected with the pavement. He dangled there, sobbing._

_Harry turned to the other three, who were watching with matching expression of fear and horror. “Take your friend, fetch your wands from the roof, and get the hell out of here,” he ordered tersely. “And I’d best never see any of you down here, ever again. You got me?”_

_He ended the spell and let the thug crumple to the ground, a blubbering mess. His friends wasted no item following Harry’s instructions. They pulled their comrade to his feet and yanked him out of the alley, their running footsteps fading away._

_Harry holstered his wand, then hurried to the crumpled figure lying not far away._

_“Malfoy?” he whispered, reaching out and touching him with achingly gentle hands. Carefully, he rolled him to his back and winced when he saw his face. There was a purpling knot above his right eye and his lower lip was swollen and bleeding. Dirt was smudged across his cheek and into his hair, and he was still the single most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen. His heart aching, he cupped the dirty cheek in his gloved hand._

_“Draco,” he whispered, leaning closer. “Draco, can you hear me?”_

_When he didn’t stir, Harry carefully lifted him into his arms and Apparated away._

~*~

”And so the Hermit,” the smooth voice went on in the next room, “after soundly thrashing the ill-mannered ruffians, swept the handsome prince up into his arms and spirited him away to his enchanted castle.”

Out in the entryway, Harry fought an amused snort and moved in near silence until he could peek around the edge of the heavy wooden doorframe. As he’d thought, the three loves of his life sat on the carpet before the fire, two little mugs held in small hands, eyes wide as saucers as the children watched the man who sat with them. Even with his legs crossed and sitting on the floor, he was graceful and elegant, and Harry’s heart filled on sight of him. 

”The Hermit was very brave, wasn’t he, Daddy?” A small girl with silver grey eyes and wayward black curls asked. 

“Oh, yes,” the man answered, gently touching her head. “Very, very brave.”

‘I don’t know about that,’ Harry thought. ‘Terrorizing a bunch of teen-agers, more like.’ 

“Was the Prince very bad hurted?” An even smaller boy with hair the color of moonlight asked, his own grey eyes wide. He was the mirror image of his Daddy.

Their father nodded gravely. “He was badly hurt, Michael, yes,” he answered, correcting him gently. 

“Tell us about the castle, Daddy!” the little girl begged, scooting closer. “With the talking cupboard and the spider family and, and…”

He laughed, white teeth flashing in the firelight. “Let’s take things one at a time, shall we?” Both children nodded eagerly, leaning forward. With the air of someone imparting a time honored tale, their father lowered his voice and began to speak again.

“The Hermit’s castle had been put under a dark curse,” he said, studying each little face. “A horrible wizard, angry at the Hermit for defying his wishes, cast a spell on him and all who dwelled there…”

Harry leaned against the door frame, his thoughts pensive. Even cleaned up for a children’s tale, that wasn’t so very far from the truth…

~*~

 _Harry Apparated into what had once been Regulus’ bedroom, holding Draco carefully against him. The moment his feet were beneath him, and the inevitable vertigo of Apparition had passed, he lifted him in his arms and laid him on the dark velvet duvet. Sitting near his hip, peeling back his cloak, Harry leaned forward to study the knot growing above his eye with a grimace._

_“What have you got there?”_

_Harry ignored the voice, unwrapping the scarf from around the pale throat, lifting Draco’s arm to check for a pulse at his wrist. His hand, scraped raw across the knuckles, gave silent testament to the fact he at least attempted to give as good as he’d got. It also hung limply, long fingers uncharacteristically still._

_“You can’t just ignore me, you know.”_

_“I can,” Harry muttered, closing his eyes and concentrating on the faint rhythm beneath his fingertips. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty… Slow, but definitely there. He breathed a silent sigh of relief. “And I will.”_

_“Even if you are the heir to the Most Noble House of Black, you’re a very cheeky, rude young man,” the posh male voice said with a sniff._

_“So I’ve been told,” Harry muttered. “And you’re furniture,” he went on. “And if you don’t stop bothering me I can have Kreacher move you into the attic.”_

_“You know can’t,” the voice sniffed. “Mrs. Black’s permanent sticking charm. Same as was used on her portrait.”_

_Harry paused long enough to glare over his shoulder at the armoire across the room; made from dark mahogany, elaborate carvings formed curlicues and elegant swags into a decidedly human appearing face. Complete with snotty smirk._

_“You’d make really fine kindling,” Harry threatened. The cabinet huffed out a dry chuckle._

_“Can’t do that either, boy.”_

_Harry exhaled and turned back to the bed. “Yes, I know.”_

_“You’re stuck with me. Now, who is that you have there?”_

_“I can’t banish you,” Harry muttered. “But I don’t have to talk to you, either.”_

_He took petty satisfaction in the annoyed sniff behind him._

_He unbuttoned the tattered shirt Draco was wearing beneath his robes, and winced at the array of blooming bruises across his white torso. Even with the rudimentary healing course he’d taken during Auror training, he knew he was out of his depth. He sat back, staring unseeing across the room. He’d have to get a healer, and there was only one he trusted enough to send for._

_“Wait, isn’t that Miss Cissy’s son?” The armoire asked, deep voice startled. Harry glared over his shoulder._

_“Could you keep it down?” he hissed. “He’s hurt, and I’m trying to decide…”_

_“Well, get him some help, you young fool!” the cabinet ordered. “Kreacher! Kreacher!!”_

_Harry shot to his feet. “Will you shut up?!”_

_On the bed behind him, Draco moaned and Kreacher popped into being at the same time. Kreacher looked up at Harry, great pea green eyes wide and bat like ears quivering, then spotted Draco lying on the bed behind him._

_“Oh, true blood of the most Noble House of Black,” he said in his creaking frog’s voice. “Whatever has happened to the young Master?”_

_“He was ambushed in an alley and beaten,” Harry answered. “I need…”_

_“I know what Master is needing,” Kreacher said, giving him a long, enigmatic look and then disappearing with a soft ‘pop’. Harry stared at the spot he’d been standing, then yanked the mask off over his head and ran both of his hands through his disheveled, shoulder length hair. “The entire place is mad,” he muttered._

_“That may be true, but unless you want Prince Charming there to see you, which I somehow doubt,” the armoire warned, “you’d best be stepping out of the room now. He’s coming to.”_

_Harry turned and looked down at the bed, and saw to his alarm that Draco was stirring restlessly. His hand lifted toward his face and he moaned._

_Every instinct he had screaming for him to stay, to take Draco’s trembling hand and to explain as gently as he knew how that he should lie still until help arrived, Harry cursed under his breath and darted through the doorway into the hall. He’d no more than cleared the frame when he heard a raw, unsteady voice behind him._

_“He…hello?” He sounded groggy, and weak, but so familiar it made Harry’s throat ache. “Is anyone there? I think… I need help…”_

_Clenching his hands into fists, Harry leaned his head back against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut._

~*~

“While the Prince slept, the Hermit, being both brave and wise -- ”

‘I’m going to remind him he said that later,’ Harry thought with a smirk.

“ -- knew that he needed help the Hermit could not give him. And so he summoned a beautiful Enchantress who was blessed with the healing arts.”

Harry wondered how a very practical, unfussy Ginny Weasley would feel about being depicted as an ‘Enchantress’ in a home spun fairy tale.

“She mixed magical potions and cast healing spells on the Prince’s injuries. But the Hermit’s heart was heavy, because he had a terrible secret…”

Harry stared unseeing across the room. ‘More than one’, he thought somberly.

~*~

 _Harry was still leaning against the wall when Kreacher popped back in, Ginny Weasley in tow in her green Healer’s robes. She saw him slouched there, and came to him quickly._

_“Are you hurt?” she murmured, touching his arm._

_He shook his head. “No, it isn’t me. It’s…he’s…” He gestured toward the bedroom door._

_Her mouth flattened. “Kreacher was right then. You’ve got Malfoy in there. Harry, for Merlin’s sakes…”_

_“I didn’t go looking, Gin,” he whispered furiously. “I was… well, I was out, and I heard someone taking a beating.”_

_“And it just happened to be him?” Her eyes were flinty._

_“Yes. And I don’t really care right now if you believe me or not. Isn’t it enough that I tell you that he needs help?”_

_“Hello? Is there someone there?”_

_They both went still as the voice drifted through the open door. A wet cough and a moan followed it, and Ginny stared at Harry, then huffed and pulled her wand. She cast a glamour over herself that turned her hair dark and cleared her complexion of telltale freckles, then lengthened her face and softened her jaw._

_“Don’t worry, dearie.” The armoire’s voice sounded about as soothing as a piece of furniture could. “I’m sure someone will be here in just a moment. The Master won’t let you suffer.”_

_“The Master?” Malfoy’s voice asked faintly._

_“The Master of this house, of course,” the armoire responded._

_Ginny looked down at Kreacher. “I need hot water and towels,” she said firmly. “And I need Twinky to bring them upstairs.”_

_Kreacher gave her as close to a sneer as he knew Harry would allow. “I know I must not be seen, Healer.” He disappeared, and Ginny made a face at the spot he’d been._

_“I hate that cheeky little bastard,” she muttered, then turned and went into the bedroom and closed the door after her._

_As much as he wanted to wait for her there in the hallway, Harry needed a drink more. Trudging down the stairs, he went into his sitting room to pour himself a stiff firewhisky._

_When he’d first moved back in to Grimmauld Place, he’d only wanted to make it so that no one could find him there. He’d made it unplottable, with only Ginny as Secret Keeper. He hadn’t counted on the unstable magic in some of the old houses original wards, however, or what would happen when someone overlaid the old charms with new ones. Everything he’d done had made the house safe, but had also somehow activated the original charms, animating some of the furniture and imbuing almost everything in the place, including the spiders who lived upstairs, with a distinct personality. He was the only one who could Apparate in or out with impunity, but he also occasionally felt as if he was living in a fun house._

_Nearly an hour after he’d gone downstairs, he was sitting in a chair facing the fireplace, the empty glass on the floor near his feet, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands linked between. His left knee was bouncing nervously, but he wasn’t even aware of it until a hand gently pressed down, stopping the movement. He looked up in surprise and found Ginny standing over him, the glamour gone and her face restored._

_“Nervous?” she asked a bit wryly._

_“How is he?”_

_“Let’s have a drink first, yeah?” She bent gracefully and retrieved Harry’s glass, crossing to the bar._

_“He has internal injuries, doesn’t he?” Harry said, following her with his eyes. “They were kicking the shit out of him.”_

_“Have you reported this to Ron yet?” She glanced at him over her shoulder, and Harry shook his head._

_“I literally sent Kreacher for you the moment I got him into the house. I’ll send an anonymous owl when you leave.”_

_She gave him a stern look. “You should Floo.”_

_It was an old argument, one he didn’t feel like having again. “Gin…”_

_“He’s starting to try to figure out who the vigilante is, Harry. And they’re your friends, too, you know,” she went on. “They don’t understand what they did.”_

_“They didn’t do anything.”_

_She crossed to him and handed him the refilled tumbler. The amber liquid smoked slightly, and he felt the heat through the glass. “You know that,” she said. “But they don’t.”_

_Something on the back of his hand caught her gaze, and she caught his wrist before he could drop his arm, studying the raised purple and black patch of skin that peeked out from beneath the sleeve on his right hand. He tried to pull away, but she wouldn’t release him._

_“The new salve hasn’t helped, then?” He shook his head tightly. “Not on your chest, or your neck either?” He repeated the motion, and she sighed, seeming to deflate before his eyes. “I had such high hopes for that blend…” She squared her shoulders, and Harry could see her pulling the natural optimism he so admired around her like a cloak. “We’ll just have to keep trying, that’s all.” She turned and went to sit across from him, leaning forward. “I do wish you’d reconsider telling Ron and Hermione. She could be invaluable in regards to research.”_

_“Don’t start, Gin,” he said softly. “It’s easier for them this way, and you know it.”_

_“Easier for them to think you just left the country? Is that the same reasoning you used when you walked away from Malfoy?”_

_“Stop,” Harry said, his gaze heated. “I don’t want to rehash all of this.”_

_“I know you don’t. I just sometimes wonder if you’d still be speaking to me if you didn’t need my skills as Healer.”_

_He looked away pointedly. She knew the answer, and he didn’t see any point in saying it aloud. “Well, look at it this way; you won’t be burdened with me for that much longer, all right?”_

_She didn’t reply, and finally he looked back at her. Her blue eyes were livid. “If you think you’re going to make me feel sorry for you, you’re out of your fucking mind, Harry Potter. I don’t do pity, and unlike Fred, you aren’t dead yet.”_

_“I’m sorry,” he said, meaning it. “That was…I shouldn’t have said it. You know I just…” He let the sentence trail off and after a weighted pause, she nodded._

_“Turn into a brooding, melancholy pain in the arse.”_

_He knew it was true, so there was no point in denying it. He leaned forward expectantly. “How is he? Please.”_

_She sighed. “You were right; he had internal injuries. Bruised liver, ruptured spleen. Fairly significant internal bleeding. I’ve managed to cure most of the damage and have given him blood replenishing potions.”_

_“He won’t die, then,” he asked, voicing aloud the fears he’d felt when he saw the battered torso._

_Her eyes softened. “No, he won’t die. But he shouldn’t be moved, either.”_

_He stiffened, alarmed. “What? Why?”_

_“That lump on his head caused a concussion. I was able to stop the internal swelling but an injury like that needs to stabilize, and it needs to be monitored.”_

_Harry felt the color leave his face. “Monitored – for how long?”_

_“I’m not sure. Could be as long as a week.”_

_“That’s impossible,” he said, heart racing. “He can’t be here for a week.”_

_She shrugged. “You brought him here, Harry.”_

_“I… I panicked. I didn’t know what else to do and I knew I couldn’t take him to St. Mungo’s.”_

_“You could have,” she countered, her voice taut. He burst to his feet, furious, and threw his glass into the fireplace. The remnants of his drink encountered the flames and they exploded into an impressive fireball, then slowly settled back down._

_Silence fell over the room and remained for several seconds._

_“Feel better?” she asked finally, voice mild._

_Harry collapsed into the chair, the anger and his energy leaving him in a rush. “Not particularly,” he answered wearily. “And you know why I couldn’t bring him to St. Mungo’s.”_

_“I know why you think you couldn’t,” she retorted. “And you know how I feel about this argument.”_

_“Ginny, for Christ’s sakes.” He looked at her, his chest tight with a weary blend of irritation and resignation. “I can’t do this again. Please. Just… tell me what I should do.”_

_“You’re just going to have to let him stay for a few days. I think I was able to head off the worst possible scenarios for concussion, but I won’t really know until I check him again tomorrow.” Ginny stood, setting her glass aside._

_“Can’t you take him back to St. Mungo’s with you?” Harry asked weakly._

_She gave him a wry look. “Malfoy is many things, but stupid isn’t one of them. If ‘Healer Barclay’ is suddenly gone but Healer Weasley isn’t, he’s going to start asking question you aren’t going to want me to answer. And I told you a long time ago; I won’t offer information, but I won’t lie for you, either. Kreacher?” She waited for the elf to appear, which he did almost immediately, looking up at her with an irritated glare. “I need you to take me back to the hospital, please.”_

_He looked over at Harry and waited. “Is this your wish, Master?”_

_“What am I supposed to do until you get back here tomorrow?” Harry asked, resigned. “How do I take care of him?”_

_“The only elf he can’t see is Kreacher, because he might recognize him. Have Twinky take him meals and monitor the potion intake. I left instructions by the bed. The drugs I’ve given him will most likely keep asleep until morning. That’s the best I can do. Ward the room so he can’t wander. You didn’t live here five years ago, and as best as we can determine, he hasn’t been in the house since he was an infant, so he shouldn’t recognize it.”_

_“Ginny,” he pleaded, giving it one last try. “I can’t have him here.”_

_“Harry,” she responded flatly. “You haven’t any choice. Now can I leave, please?”_

_Kreacher looked as if he hoped Harry would deny her, but he finally gave the elf a resigned nod. He could hear the small creature's disgruntled grumble as they disappeared._

_Harry stared into the flames on the hearth after she was gone. Gods, what was he supposed to do now?_

~*~

“What was the Hermit’s secret, Daddy?” The small girl asked, even though she’d heard the tale a hundred times or more. 

“He been cursed!” Michael piped up brightly, and his sister gave him a stern glare.

“Let Daddy tell it, Mikey,” she scolded. 

“He can help, Giselle,” her father said gently. “And you are absolutely right, son. Remember the horrible dark wizard who cursed the castle?” Both children nodded eagerly. “Well, his curse extended to all who lived there, but most especially to the Hermit.” He leaned forward, voice hushed and eyes wide. “The Hermit was a much stronger wizard than the dark one, you see, and his jealousy was so great that he devised a curse that made the Hermit turn away from everyone, from his friends and his family…” He paused. “Even from those who loved him most.”

“Why would he do that?” Giselle asked, frowning. 

Her father lovingly stroked her curls, his face pensive. “Because he no longer deemed himself worthy of being loved.”

Harry thrust his hands in his pockets and stared at the Floor.

~*~

 _It was a rare sort of hell he found himself in. Ginny believed that Voldemort had devised the curse intentionally, but Harry hated to give the misshapen monster that sort of credit. It would make sense though, he supposed. Curse the ‘boy who lived’ with something that would make him lose his desire to go on doing so, something that would ultimately kill him, but so slowly it would make him wish for death long before it occurred. But even Voldemort could not have planned forcing him to be directly responsible for the care of the man he’d loved and left, all because of the dark bastard’s ‘parting gift’_

_When he had returned Draco’s wand after defeating Voldemort, Harry saw fear and resignation in the grey eyes, but something else as well. A small tendril of hope, a tentative spark of longing. Having never been particularly quick on the uptake, and being in a state of confusion about his own sexuality, it had taken Harry two years to figure out that the butterflies in his stomach and the quickening of his heart rate whenever he saw Draco was desire. Once he did cotton on, and even though they had struck up an unlikely but close friendship after the war was over, it took Harry another year to gather the courage to ask Draco out on a proper date. Once he had, however, it took him almost no time to talk him into bed._

_Their friends thought them insane. They fought almost as much as they didn’t. Harry with his infamous temper and Draco with his icy derision made for sometimes frosty and unlikely partners. But few knew the truth of their relationship. They didn’t know Draco was the only person who had ever been able to soothe Harry after his nightmares, or that Harry could calm Draco’s lingering panic attacks, a gift of his years in the Manor with Voldemort, with a softly spoken word and the touch of a hand. They’d managed to stay together while Harry navigated his way through Auror training and Draco achieved his Potions Masters certification. They’d even begun to discuss Draco moving into Harry’s upscale Diagon Alley flat when he’d noticed a small patch of dried, discoloured skin on Harry’s left pectoral muscle._

_Harry hadn’t thought much of it. It didn’t hurt, and it really didn’t seem that big of a deal. But by the time it was the size of a galleon and darkening from tawny gold to faint purple, Draco was absolutely insistent he have it checked. Harry had gone to Ginny, certain she’d tell him he was allergic to the satin sheets Draco insisted on or something, and hadn’t been too concerned about the way she studied the patch of dry skin, a frown between her brows. When she sent him an owl with the tersely worded message, _I need to see you as soon as possible,_ he’d assumed that being a relatively new Healer, she might be over reacting._

_She wasn’t._

_He would always be grateful that he hadn’t told Draco about the appointment. When a somber Ginny met him in the lobby, and accompanied him to an unfamiliar office on the fourth Floor, he’d been mystified. Then he’d seen the words ‘Catastrophic Spell Damage’ on the door, and everything inside of him turned cold._

_Ginny introduced him to a very professional Healer named Watkins who had a firm handshake and a kind smile, but Harry didn’t feel even remotely reassured. He didn’t remember later exactly what the man said, but he understood enough. Apparently Voldemort had devised a spell for whoever it was who managed to finally kill him, an insidious curse that didn’t take effect immediately, but which would slowly but surely kill the caster over the course of several years. It not only caused a slow and lingering death, however. It created a path of creeping, disfiguring scarring that resembled burned flesh, thickening the skin, turning it from dark red to purple to black. It was an ancient and hideous way to die, the spell rarely used. Watkins was the only Healer who had ever treated it. No one, to the best of his knowledge, had ever survived it. And there was no known way to reverse it._

_Harry had felt Ginny’s hand gripping his, heard the words ‘terminal’, and ‘disfiguring’, and wished he had the capacity to kill himself. He didn’t, but he wasn’t cruel enough to force his family, his friends, or his lover to watch him die that way. Knowing Harry well enough to know what he would do, Ginny argued with him stridently, but he wouldn’t listen. Without telling a soul why, he resigned from the Ministry, subleased his flat, left notes for everyone concerned saying ‘he was having a harder time adjusting to life after the war than he thought and needed to start over’, and disappeared._

_For the first six months, while the scarring wasn’t too obvious and could be covered with long sleeves and high collars, he traveled to places he’d always wanted to see. America, Canada, Japan. He’d seen things he’d only ever heard of; the Golden Temple in Kyoto and Mt. Fuji, the Canadian Rockies, and the Statue of Liberty. But no matter where he went, or what he saw, his heart remained in London and he was miserable._

_Ginny was angry at him, but she kept him up to date on those he’d left behind. Ron and Hermione were mystified, but seemed to feel if he needed the time then maybe it was a good thing. They wrote him letters full of information about her rapid rise through the DMLE and Ron’s new job as Vice President at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. They got pregnant, and urged him to get home in time to be the baby’s godfather. Bill and Fleur had baby number two, a boy named Louis. Neville married Hannah Abbott. Seamus and Zacharias Smith stunned everyone by buying a Victorian house and turning it into a bed and breakfast._

_From Draco, Harry got one note._

>  _How could you do this to me?_

 _._

_That was it. For the next four years, he didn’t hear another word._

_When he finally could no longer hide the encroaching scars, Harry came home to England, went into Grimmauld Place, which he told Ron and Hermione he’d sold, and didn’t come out into the sunlight again. The scarring spread, creeping across his chest, over his shoulder, down his arms onto his hands. It spread up his neck and onto the right side of his face, ugly and mottled, purple, black and red, a burn scar with no heat that pulled down the corner of his mouth and gave half of his face a satyr’s grimace. There were other symptom’s as well; stiffening of his muscles, internal tissue damage. His magic was stronger than it had ever been, but his body was failing. As Ginny explained, the scarring wasn’t just on the surface of his skin. Ultimately it would make it impossible for him to breathe, or stop his heart. Daily Harry wished that would be the day it would end, and yet he went on. And now, the man he’d loved and never planned to see again was lying upstairs in his house, and he didn’t have the first idea what to do about it._

_It was almost three in the morning by the time he was no longer able to ignore the pull of the third floor. He went up the stairs as silently as possible, and paused outside of Regulus’ room, taking a deep breath before spelling the wall and door transparent._

_Draco was lying in the bed, blankets tucked over his chest, his face turned toward the door and his hands relaxed on the duvet. All Harry could do was stare. Even with the bump on his forehead and the discoloration along his jaw, he was beautiful. Twinky had cleaned him up, and his bare shoulders were square and subtly muscled against the sheets. His hair gleamed platinum in the soft light from a bedside lamp. He sighed and stirred slightly in the potion induced sleep, and the desire to touch was so strong, and so painful, that Harry had to clench his fists against it. He leaned against the opposite wall and slid to the floor, his face in his hands._

_He’d been through a lot in his life, but this truly felt like the one thing that might kill him._

~*~

“When the Prince awoke the morning after the Hermit saved him, he found himself in an enchanted bedchamber,” he said. “He was still feeling very battered from his experience, and confused about where he was, but he knew instantly it was somewhere special. There were elves to see to his every whim…”

“Like Twinky, Daddy?” Giselle asked.

“Exactly like Twinky,” Draco answered, his eyes sparkling. In the doorway, Harry’s lips curved in a wry smile. “They brought him magical food that made him stronger, and the beautiful Enchantress returned with potions that helped to cure his many hurts. There was an armoire in his room that told the Prince stories and kept him diverted.”

“What’s ‘diverted’?” Asked Mikey.

“It means kept him occupied,” Draco offered. 

“Mikey,” Giselle said. “Stop interrupting Daddy. I want to hear about the spiders.”

‘Bossy, just like her father,’ Harry thought fondly.

“And,” Draco went on, his smile widening, “there was a family of spiders. A Mum and a Dad and four babies, who wove the most beautiful, intricate webs in the world. They shone in the morning light like Belgium lace dotted with diamonds, and the spiders waved their little arms at him in greeting the next day.”

Harry found himself wondering how much of the webs appearance and the friendliness of the spider family had something to do with the potions he’d been on at the time. Ginny had said something about them having hallucinogenic values.

“There was also a charmed library, and all the Prince had to do was wish for it, and a book would float up to his bedroom. The Enchantress had told him he could not get up for the first few days, and to be quiet and careful, but it was very dull for the Prince all day with nothing to do and no one to talk to.”

“He could talk to the ‘moire,” Mikey said, his fingers in his mouth. 

“And he did,” Draco said. “But there is only so much a piece of furniture can know about wizard things.”

“Cyril knows a lot,” the child said, light eyes wide. 

“Well, Cyril is a very special armoire,” Draco replied. “I taught Cyril everything he knows. The one in the enchanted castle wasn’t nearly as smart as Cyril.”

Harry fought down a chuckle.

“Why didn’t the Hermit talk to him?” Gisele asked, just as she had every time Draco had told this story from the time she could speak. 

“Ah, now that is a mystery, isn’t it?” Draco gently touched the tip of her nose. “Well, as a matter of fact, the Hermit did finally speak to the Prince. Would you like to know what happened?”

Both of the children nodded eagerly, Mikey leaning against Draco’s arm, his grey eyes wide and Gisele in front of him, her legs crossed beneath her as she leaned forward. 

“It was the second night, and the Prince was in the Hermit’s enchanted chamber…”

~*~

 _“I don’t suppose it ever occurred to you that he might consider that spying.”_

_Harry jumped and turned, and felt his face fill with heat as Ginny stood at the top of the stairs, her arms crossed over her chest._

_Harry waved his wand with a guilty shrug, turning the wall opaque once again. He’d considered using his dad’s old cloak and going in and sitting at his bedside, but he couldn’t figure out how to manage it without it being obvious someone was there. Besides, Draco knew he had an invisibility cloak. It was a risk he wasn’t willing to take. “I was just checking to see if he needed anything.”_

_“Does he?” She walked up to him, unable to hide the amusement on her face._

_“’Does he’, what?”_

_She grinned. “Need anything. Do try to hang on to the plot, Harry.”_

_He cleared his throat. “He’s more awake today, and he’s been talking to the armoire.”_

_“Anywhere else, that might be symptom of brain injury. But not here.” She pulled a bag from her pocket and enlarged it with a flick of her wand. “And what has the furniture been telling him?”_

_“To listen to you and not over do,” he answered. “The same thing the elves are telling him.”_

_“He’s frustrated,” she said, pulling potions from the bag and slipping them into her pockets. “His vision is blurred, a result of the head injury and the potions I’m giving him.” She smiled sardonically. “I will say I find him much easier to get along with when he has no idea who I am.”_

_Harry huffed softly. She dropped another potion into her left front pocket and set the bag on a hallway table, then came to Harry, her eyes searching his face. “So, are you planning to sleep at all while he’s here, or just spend twenty four hours a day watching him?”_

_He scratched the back of his neck absently, and grimaced with he felt the thick, rough skin. He dropped his hands uncomfortably. “I’ve slept.”_

_She rolled her eyes. “Sitting right there on the Floor, I’d wager.” He didn’t bother to say otherwise. “Harry,” she said. “You know fatigue only accelerates the effects of the curse…”_

_“Good.” The flat tone of his voice warned her to stop, and the expression on her face made it clear she wasn’t happy about it. Without another word, she cast the glamour over her face and hair and entered the bedroom. Harry hesitated casting the transparency spell again, but then decided he didn’t care what Ginny thought. He wasn’t sure how much longer Draco would be in the house, how much more time he’d have to watch him, and he didn’t want to waste a moment of it._

_Draco was leaning against the headboard and Ginny, in her role as Healer Barclay, was standing over him, casting diagnostic spells with gentle swishes of her wand. Numbers and symbols appeared over his head, and she studied them before they faded and she cast another set._

_“You’re certain there isn’t anyone we should be notifying about your condition,” she was saying. “No relatives?”_

_Harry’s jaw tightened. “Damn it, Gin,” he muttered._

_Draco was shaking his head. “My father is dead and my mother moved to France after the war. I do have some colleagues who might be concerned.”_

_“I can make sure that’s done for you,” she said, handing him a vial of green potion. He downed it without comment. “I think if you restrict your activities for another day or two, you should be able to go home and continue your course of treatment there. But you should limit your movements, perhaps not return to work until Monday.”_

_Draco nodded and pushed absently at his long blond fringe, staring at his hands. “I wish my vision would clear,” he said, frowning. “It’s so frustrating.”_

_She gave him a slight smile. “It will. Just don’t push.” She gave him one last smile and started for the door._

_“Healer?”_

_She paused and looked back, dark brows lifted. “Yes, Mr. Malfoy?”_

_“Can you tell me anything about the man who saved me?”_

_Harry stiffened, his heart leaping into his throat._

_“What do you remember?” she asked carefully._

_Draco sighed. “Just… I remember being cornered by what felt like a small army of teen-aged idiots.”_

_Ginny smiled faintly. “I’m sure it did. I understand there were four, but four armed morons is four too many._

_Draco smiled weakly. “Point. At any rate, I hate going to Knockturn, but there are some potion ingredients – well. The brats took exception to my presence and my parentage and the fact that I breathe, I assume. They disarmed me, and took turns using my head as a bludger.” He frowned. “I truly thought they were going to kill me. I remember thinking ‘I lived through a bloody war and I’m about to be done in by a gaggle of acne arsed troll offspring.”_

_In spite of his tension, Harry smiled slightly._

_“They were quite literally kicking the shite out of me, and then there was… this voice.” His eyes took on a far away look and his long fingers plucked at the duvet covering his lap. “For a moment I thought...” He rubbed his forehead, grimacing when his fingertips grazed the lump at his hairline. He shook his head. “I lost consciousness, and when I came to I was here. I figured you must know something about him, or you wouldn’t be here.”_

_Harry was certain it was only because he knew her so well, but an expression of irritation that was entirely Ginny Weasley’s passed over the unfamiliar face. “I know he’s a recluse, and that he lives here alone,” she said after a weighted pause. “Anything else, he’d have to tell you.”_

_“But, he hasn’t even stopped in to see how I’m doing, and I’ve been here two days. He saved me at considerable personal risk, and then doesn’t even poke his head in. I find that very odd behavior, don’t you?”_

_A wry grimace pulled her lips to one side. “For him? Not particularly, no.” She looked meaningfully at the wall._

_“He’s obviously a wizard,” Malfoy persisted. “Can you at least tell me if he’s English?”_

_Harry saw a sigh move through her. “I’m sorry, Mr. Malfoy,” she said finally. “I really can’t. I’m a Healer; I took an oath. As he is also my patient, it would be extraordinarily unethical for me to discuss anything about him.”_

_Draco’s shoulders sagged as he exhaled. “Of course. Forgive me.”_

_She gave him a small smile. “It’s all right. I can encourage him to speak to you, if you like?”_

_He nodded. “Thank you. I would appreciate it.”_

_She nodded and opened the door at her back. “I will see you tomorrow,” she murmured._

_Harry ended the spell and leaned against the opposite wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He heard Draco murmur something, then she was closing the door behind her and ending the glamour. When she turned on him, Harry saw anger on her pretty face. She cast a hurried silencing spell before she spoke._

_“Oh, just stop it. Do not insult my intelligence by standing there pretending you weren’t watching when I know you were.”_

_He didn’t even attempt to deny it, just shrugged negligently._

_“And don’t you shrug at me. This has gone far enough. He’s alert now. You can’t just keep him in the dark. It’s unfair.”_

_“What would you suggest? That I trot in there and say ‘ah gee, Draco, sorry I walked out on you five years ago, but I have this nasty curse on me that’s turning me into a human scab while it’s slowly killing me’?”_

_“I will _not_ feel sorry for you,” she countered. “What you’re doing here is wrong, Harry. When he’s stable enough how do you plan to get him out of here?”_

_He actually had thought about this. “I’ll have Twinky Apparate him out when you release him. Until then…”_

_“Until then you’ll just torture yourself by watching him through a spelled wall. Well, like it or not, that is an invasion of my _other_ patient’s privacy.” She withdrew her wand and quickly threw a spell at the wall, so fast he couldn’t follow the movement of her wand. The wallpaper glowed for a moment, then the light faded._

_“What did you do?” Harry asked, taking a step closer._

_“I made it impossible for you to use a transparency spell on that wall,” she said tightly. “It’s unethical for me to discuss you with him, and it’s equally unethical for me to stand in there, knowing you’re spying on him.”_

_“It’s my fucking house!” Harry fumed._

_“And you didn’t have to bring him here. If you’re so desperate to see him, then act like a man and go in there and talk to him.” She dropped the empty vials into her bag, shrank it and dropped it into her pocket. “If you can’t do that, then leave him alone.”_

_She turned and stormed down the stairs, and he watched her go, fuming._

_His irritation at her lasted through the afternoon and into the evening, and grew. He left the upstairs hallway, but not before he tried every spell and counter curse he knew in an attempt to end the blocking spell she’d cast on the wall. He paced his sitting room, and his bedroom, and the halls. The elves avoided him, fearful of his temper. He waited until the sun went down and went out, covered as he always was during his night time excursions, to walk through the darkest and most haunted parts of Hampsted Heath. No one ever bothered him there, and the ghosts certainly didn’t look twice at one of the few living beings in their midst. But his mind refused to accompany him on his sojourn; it was back at Grimauld Place, standing outside of Regulus’ bedroom door. Finally unable to deny the pull any longer, he Apparated back into his bedroom and yanked off his cloak._

_“Twinky!”_

_He heard the pop behind him. “Yes, Master Harry, sir? Do you be needing Twinky?”_

_Harry spun on his heel. “Yes, I – is our houseguest still awake?”_

_She shook her head. “Oh, no, sir. Miss Wheezy be giving him something to help his sleeping, and he has been out for some time now.”_

_Disappointment warred with relief in his chest._

_‘I would have talked to him’, he told the Ginny Weasley of his conscience, ‘but you can’t have a conversation with a sleeping man. So there.’ And despite how utterly childish he sounded, even to himself, he felt vindicated._

_Harry did not sleep well on the best nights. The thickening of his skin made the muscles beneath inflexible, and his right arm ached. Often, the spreading scars itched and if he took something strong enough to actually facilitate sleep, he woke having scratched his skin raw. So, he napped, usually after casting spells that numbed the sections of skin where the scars were spreading and after having a stiff drink. Or five._

_With Draco sleeping just two doors down, nothing helped. The numbing charms didn’t relax him and the alcohol didn’t soothe him. He felt edgy and wired for the second night in a row, and decided to read to pass the time. Still determined to undo what Ginny had done, he’d grabbed an advanced spell book from the library and was lying on his bed, reading, when the first sounds reached his ears._

_At first, he wasn’t sure what he was hearing. It sounded as if something was struggling within the walls, and he sat up, his head turned, frowning._

_“No!”_

_The cry tore through the silence of the old house, and Harry was out of bed, his wand clutched in his fist as he raced down the hall to Regulus’ bedroom. He paused, but only until another broken cry sounded. He paused just long enough to disillusion himself, and opened the door._

_The bedside light was low, casting long shadows across the Floors and up the walls, and Draco was lying on his back, tossing fitfully. The blankets were around his waist, revealing his pale, damp torso, and his fair hair stuck to his reddened face in wet clumps. He was clearly caught in a nightmare, and Harry was torn between the desire to go to him, and the knowledge that a simple disillusionment spell would only get him so far. He hesitated before he crossed the thresh hold and cast the spell equivalent of Peruvian Darkness Powder, plunging the room into blackness._

_“Malfoy,” Harry whispered. He knew his voice had changed since Draco last heard it; the curse was causing damage to his vocal cords as well as everything else. When Draco said something to Ginny that afternoon about recognizing something in his voice, however… Intentionally pitching his voice even lower, he reached out and touched the bed. “Mr. Malfoy,” he repeated, louder. He could still hear Draco tossing and turning, and he searched the foot of the bed until his hand encountered what he was certain was one of Draco’s feet. He squeezed it. “Mr. Malfoy.”_

_The thrashing stopped and the room went still._

_“Who… who’s there?”_

_“It’s all right,” Harry murmured, softening his voice to a near whisper. “Don’t be afraid.”_

_He could hear Draco’s rapid breathing. “Who’s there?” he repeated, attempting to sound stern. He didn’t, he sounded terrified, and Harry wanted nothing more than to ease him._

_“Your host,” Harry finally said. “I own this house.”_

_Again, silence fell. “You’re the man who saved me then, aren’t you?”_

_Even though Draco couldn’t see him, Harry shifted uncomfortably. “It wasn’t actually a huge accomplishment,” he said. “They were four teenaged boys and I was able to get the drop on them. They were – preoccupied.”_

_“Kicking shite out of me,” Draco said wryly._

_“Yes, actually.”_

_Another silence descended, and Harry held his breath. Draco shifted on the bed. “Why is it so dark in here?” he asked finally. “Is it a spell?”_

_“It is, and I wish he’d take it off,” Cyril the armoire complained. “I can’t see my own knobs.”_

_“You’re knobs aren’t that special,” Harry muttered._

_“I’ll have you know my knobs came all the way from the south of France,” Cyril retorted. “They’re silver with mother of pearl inlay, and very expensive.”_

_“Oh, do stuff it,” Harry growled. “They’re pewter, and you were built in Sussex.”_

_Cyril huffed in outrage, but didn’t speak again._

_In the quiet that followed, it took Harry a moment to identify the new sound, but then realized that Draco was laughing softly, and he allowed himself a slight smile._

_“Sir, not to insult you,” Draco said, “but you do realize you’re arguing with furniture.”_

_Harry’s wry smile widened. “Yes, although in fairness, he does possess more personality than a lot of people I know.”_

_“Thank you,” Cyril sniffed._

_“You’re welcome.”_

_Another huff of laughter sounded._

_“I’m hallucinating, aren’t I?” Draco mused. “I’m sitting in pitch blackness, listening to someone argue with an armoire. For all I know, you’re the hat rack.”_

_Startled, Harry chuckled, and the sound was rusty, and unused. “I can only promise you that I’m not.”_

_“You never did tell me why you used a spell to darken the room,” Draco said, and Harry felt his amusement fade._

_“I didn’t, did I?” he murmured._

_“Is there a reason I should not see you? Would I recognize you?”_

_Harry inhaled, then let the breath leave his lungs slowly. “No,” he lied in a whisper. “No, you would not recognize me. The spell is… to protect me from embarrassment.” Complete quiet met his announcement, and Harry could almost feel Draco listening. “Several years ago, I was the victim of a curse. As a result, I have become seriously – disfigured, and would prefer no one saw me.” ‘Particularly not you,’ he added to himself. To see disgust on Draco’s face would kill him._

_“I’m so sorry,” Draco said quietly._

_“I find it less distressing to others this way,” Harry went on. “I am not… appealing to look at.”_

_“I’m guessing Healer Barclay is your healer, then?”_

_Harry frowned for a moment, then remembered Ginny’s alternate identity. “Yes, yes she is.”_

_“Does she specialize? I mean, is spell damage her area?”_

_Harry swallowed. “I trust her,” he said finally. “For my needs, that is what is most important.”_

_“Have you seen a specialist? They might be able…”_

_“Mr. Malfoy,” Harry interrupted, not unkindly. “I have seen specialists on five continents, and tried every potion known to man. I assure you; the most she can do now is abide by my wishes to preserve my privacy, and make me comfortable. And that’s all I require from her.”_

_“Oh.” The silence now felt uneasy. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”_

_“It’s all right.” Harry shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “I did not mean to invade your privacy,” he said finally, feeling a twinge of guilt at the knowledge that he’d been doing it for two days until Ginny put an end to it. “You were having a nightmare, and crying out in your sleep.”_

_“Ah,” Draco mused softly. “They were worse, right after the war, but then they were better for a while…”_

_“All of our nightmares were worse right after the war,” Harry said. “And I imagine your recent experience might have caused them to return. I have some Dreamless Sleep, if you’d like.”_

_He could almost hear Draco considering it. “No,” he said finally. “It becomes far too easy to take, and far too hard to stop.”_

_“All right.”_

_Even though he didn’t want to, Harry inched toward the door to the hall. “As long as you’re all right,” he said, “I’ll just go…”_

_“Wait,” Draco said sharply. Harry froze. “Please. Can’t we just… talk for a while?”_

_Harry caught his breath. “I’d have to leave the spell on the room. Wouldn’t you rather be able to see?”_

_“Honestly? I’d rather not be alone,” Draco admitted. A disgruntled ‘humpf’ sounded in the darkness, and Harry fought a laugh._

_“Oh, I am sorry, Cyril,” Draco apologized with barely a trace of irony. “It’s not that you haven’t been excellent company.”_

_“Better than him, and any rate,” Cyril drawled. “The more you get to know him, the less you’re going to like him, I assure you.”_

_“Kindling, Cyril,” Harry warned. “Very fine kindling.”_

_“We’ve discussed this…”_

_“It doesn’t stop a man from dreaming.”_

_“See?” the armoire said to Draco. “He’s a beast."_

_By this point, Draco was laughing outright._

~*~

“And so, the Hermit and the Prince struck up an unlikely friendship,” Draco told the children. “Every evening, the Hermit would come to the Prince’s room and cast the spell so he couldn’t be seen, and they would talk. They spoke of many things, but never again of the dark curse that afflicted the Hermit and his castle.”

“It was bad, huh Daddy? The curse.” Mikey asked. 

“Yes, Mikey, but mostly because the Hermit believed himself a beast because of it,” Draco answered. 

“He wasn’t though, was he?” Giselle said mournfully.

“No, darling.” Draco took her hand and held it. “He wasn’t. Without the distractions of thinking only of how people looked, or how he himself looked, the Prince came to realize there was someone very special inside the Hermit. Someone kind, and considerate. And smart and funny. Someone he could carry on a conversation with. Someone he wanted to know better, and spend more time with. They spent hours talking, far into the night, and the Prince was never bored. By the fifth day, he had something important he wanted to ask the Hermit.” Draco looked between the children, his expression serious. “Something that could change everything.”

“Was he scared?” Mikey asked.

Draco nodded solemnly. “Terrified.”

Harry leaned his head against the doorframe. ‘He wasn’t the only one.’

~*~

 _One of the constants of Harry’s relationship with Draco, back before the curse had changed everything, was that they didn’t actually _talk_ very much. They were wildly sexually attracted to one another, and that passion overrode conversation. Plus, Harry had never been certain Draco found him particularly smart. He knew he wanted him, but he had other friends to talk to. Parkinson, and Zabini. He’d even told Harry once he should stick to what he excelled at; a good, hard shag. It was part of the reason he’d never considered telling Draco about the curse; it was going to disfigure him and make him ugly. Why would Draco want him then? He’d withdrawn from his life, certain there was nothing left for him to offer the man he loved. But the four days he spent sitting in the dark, just listening to Draco had been some of the most magical time he’d ever spent. He discovered he could keep up with Draco’s rapier wit, and that he had things to offer. During those moments, he felt almost normal. _

_It made the times in between, when Ginny was there or he couldn’t make excuses for plunging Draco into the darkness, that much more difficult to bear. But he couldn’t stand the idea of not taking advantage of the moments he had, however fleeting._

_He was sitting in Draco’s room on the fifth night, and they’d been laughing over the lyrics of one particularly obnoxious Celestina Warbeck song. Harry had to pause to catch his breath, and it occurred to him he’d not laughed like that, quite literally, in years. It felt good._

_“I have a question,” Draco said._

_“Ask.”_

_“We’ve become… friends, haven’t we?”_

_Harry closed his eyes. “I like to think so.”_

_“And friends trust one another, right?”_

_He bit his lower lip. “Where they can.”_

_“Do you think you could trust that I won’t be offended by your appearance, and let me see you?”_

_Harry winced. He’d expected the question to come again at some point, and he floundered. The answer was obvious, but a part of him, an increasingly large part, fantasized about having the courage to end the spell and look into Draco’s eyes. When he hesitated, Draco drew in a deep breath._

_“I know you’re uncomfortable with how you look, and I do understand, but I can promise you it won’t make any difference to me. I… well, I really like you, and -”_

_It was like a vise squeezing Harry’s lungs. God, he wanted to believe that it wouldn’t make any difference. And yet, he knew it wasn’t true. Draco would take one look at him, and –_

_When a knock sounded on the door, he shot to his feet._

_“I should probably check and see what it is,” Harry said, breathless, feeling his way along the wall. “I won’t be long.”_

_“All right,” Draco said faintly._

_Harry stepped out into the hall only to find Ginny standing there, her arms crossed and a concerned look on her face._

_“We need to talk,” she said. “Now.”_

_“What is it?”_

_“He’s been missed. Parkinson has filed a missing person report, and Ron’s caught the case.”_

_“Bollocks.” Harry looked back at the door, then led the way down the stairs._

_“How did you find this out?” Harry asked as they entered the downstairs sitting room._

_“I just had dinner with Ron and Hermione,” she answered, and it was then Harry registered the skinny jeans and the snug jumper she wore. He hadn’t even noticed she wasn’t wearing her Healers robes. “Ron told me Parkinson is kicking up a real fit at the DMLE, and he’s going to have to put someone on this whether he wants to or not.” She paused, studying his face. “Malfoy is ready to go, Harry. He’s been ready. And the longer you keep him here, the bigger the risk to you.”_

_Harry turned away, pushing his hands into his pockets. “ _I’m_ not ready.”_

_She came up behind him, putting her hands on his stiff shoulders. “I know,” she murmured. “But Harry, this can’t be good for you. You’re just punishing yourself…”_

_“You bastard.”_

_Ginny gasped and turned and Harry stiffened, horror Flooding his body with cold. It was then he remembered he hadn’t recast the locking and silencing spells on the bedroom door._

_“Draco, you don’t understand,” Ginny said._

_“I understand enough, Weaslette, thanks ever so,” Draco’s voice went on, scorn dripping from every syllable. “I should have known. Have fun with this, have you? Keeping me, quite literally, in the dark for the better part of a week, giving me potions that make me groggy and compromise my eyesight. For what? So you could keep me prisoner?”_

_“You know better than that,” Ginny argued._

_“I don’t know anything,” he countered. “And you –,” Harry knew he was talking to him, and he turned further away, trying to hide his face. “Don’t you turn your back on me, Potter. You walk out on me five years ago, and then you think you can just… what? Abduct me? How dare you. You sick, twisted, son of a bitch –”_

_“Draco, no,” Ginny warned shrilly._

_Everything after that happened so fast Harry didn’t even have time to grab his wand handle and Apparate. He heard Ginny’s warning at the same moment he felt hands roughly grasp his shoulders, and as he fought to pull away he was being yanked around to face angry grey eyes._

_He’d known what he would see. He’d known for five years it would be a combination of loathing and disgust if Draco ever saw the thick, dark scars that now covered his arm, his neck, and the right side of his face. But even his worst nightmares hadn’t prepared him for the horror that dawned across Draco’s handsome features, or would ever erase the hurt that bloomed when Draco released him and took a step back as if he were diseased. Which he was. Merlin, he was._

_“My God,” he wheezed. “Harry, what…?”_

_Harry didn’t wait for more. He couldn’t. Animated by a survival instinct he no longer knew he possessed, he gripped his wand in his fist and Apparated away._

_He hadn’t given any conscious thought to where he was going, and it wasn’t until he staggered through darkened stretches along the Thames that he realized where he was. He and Draco had walked this way often, hand in hand, leaning against one another as they followed the bank of the river. It was as if he could hear the ghosts of their younger selves, talking, laughing. He had none of his usual camouflage with him, and when he passed under a street light, a Muggle woman gasped on sight of him. Her horrified expression was like salt in an open wound, and as soon as he could he slipped into a darkened alley amidst the garbage, and stood, numb, with his back against the cold brick wall._

_All he could think was he wished he had the courage to end it. He’d considered it once, when he’d first been diagnosed and known it was only a matter of time before the scarring stopped his heart. He’d even asked Ginny for a poison, but of course she refused and he didn’t know enough about potions to brew himself one. So instead he’d taken reckless risks and began slipping into Knockturn Alley, hoping someone would take the matter out of his hands and end it for him. He thought any usefulness he might have had was done. But then he'd seen an illegal potions transaction, and realized he could anonymously owl Ron and still, perhaps, make a difference. It had been enough to keep him from killing himself. But that had been before he’d seen Draco’s face. The horrified expression hadn’t been fresh in his mind then. Now he knew he’d never be able to forget it, or live with it._

_Sliding down, he sat against the grimy wall. He had no idea how long he stayed there, but he felt nothing; no cold, no damp, no passage of time. He stared into space, the horrified look on Draco’s face repeating again, and again. When dawn had begun to turn the sky from black to pale grey, Twinky blinked into being near his feet. He stared at her, but he no longer possessed the ability to respond when she spoke to him, sadness in her huge green eyes._

_“Oh, Master Harry Potter, sir. What is you doing, sitting in the cold? Here.” She held out her tiny hand. “Come and let Twinky be taking you home.”_

_‘Why not?’ he thought listlessly. Surely Draco must gone by now. He’d probably run out of the door the moment he had a chance. The wards kept people out, but couldn’t lock them in._

_Looking listlessly up at Twinky, he let her grasp his hand and Apparate him away._

_They returned to his sitting room, and he staggered. The immediate warmth that brushed his skin was almost painful, but not as painful as the sound of the voice that spoke softly._

_“You always have been crap at Apparition.”_

_Harry winced, rounding his shoulders and crossing his arms over his chest. He closed his eyes; he might not be able to prevent Draco from looking at him, but he didn’t have to see the expression of loathing again._

_“Thank you, Twinky. Where did you find him?”_

_“By the river,” she answered. “He was being in an alley.”_

_“That would explain the lovely scent of garbage. Thank you, I’ve got him now.”_

_Silence surrounded him, and suddenly the heaviness of it seemed to weigh him down. His legs simply weren’t equal to the task of keeping him upright, and they folded beneath him. He began to collapse, until hands gripped him hard beneath his arms._

_“Oh, Christ, why are you here?” he moaned, twisting, refusing to open his eyes. “Leave me alone, please.”_

_He was lowered gently to the Floor instead. “While I know that might appeal to your martyr complex,” Draco said near his ear, “I’m afraid I’m unable to do that.” Harry tried to pull away, to curl onto his side and make himself as small as possible, but an arm wrapped tight around his ribcage, pulling him back snug against a solid chest. “My God, you bloody fool. You’re freezing.” He heard a softly muttered spell, and then the sound of a fire crackling merrily on the hearth nearby. His face felt the heat but the lump of ice in his chest remained._

_Hands moved up and down his arms, trying to force circulation back into rigid limbs. “You’re an idiot, I hope you know that,” Draco muttered. “Apparating out into the night without so much as a cloak. You’ll be lucky if you don’t catch your death.”_

_The absurdity of the comment struck Harry, and he huffed out a bitter laugh. “Why yes, that would be a true shame, wouldn’t it? God forbid.”_

_Draco’s hand curled around his arm and he squeezed, hard. “Stop it,” he growled. “While I understand and even sympathize with some of your anger, self-pity has never been your style. You’ve always been irritatingly optimistic.”_

_Harry winced. “I believe the last five years may have cured me of that, if nothing else.”_

_They sat on the floor for several minutes, Draco with his arms wrapped around him, Harry holding himself rigid in his embrace. He wanted nothing more than to collapse back into his chest, but he couldn’t let himself do it. It was too tempting, and he was too afraid._

_Draco eased the pressure around his arm until the grip was no longer painful. “Why didn’t you tell me?”_

_Harry flinched. “I didn’t know how,” he answered wearily.  
“’How about; the twisted son of a bitch cursed me, Draco.’ How hard would that have been?”_

_Harry pulled his arm from Draco’s grasp and pushed away until he was sitting on his own. He could still feel Draco behind him, but they were no longer touching. “How hard would that have been?” Harry repeated, incredulous. “How would I have phrased that? ‘Sorry, Draco. I know we’re just fucking for giggles, but I don’t figure you fancy ending up with a leper’.”_

_Draco inhaled harshly. “You are not a fucking leper,” he said, his low voice rough. “And I deserved better than you suddenly disappearing.”_

_Harry let his head fall forward. “You’re right. And I’m sorry for that.” He opened his eyes and looked through his fringe into the fire. “But I’m not sorry I didn’t see that look on your face before tonight. I know I’m ugly, but…” He shook his head. “I’ve never felt as hideous as I do right now.”_

_“Harry,” Draco breathed gently. “You could never be hideous.”_

_Harry shot him a disbelieving look over his shoulder. “Nice try, Draco. But I saw your face.”_

_Draco was staring at him, and Harry was surprised that there was no revulsion on his face. “What you saw was surprise,” Draco said. “You didn’t tell me _anything_. Be honest; if I suddenly appeared after five years, and I was…” He seemed to flounder._

_“Disfigured,” Harry provided snidely._

_“I was going to say scarred. Can you tell me you wouldn’t be shocked?”_

_“I’d be devastated,” Harry whispered. “Not because of how you looked, but because of what you must be going through.”_

_He stiffened when he felt Draco lean closer, felt his hands slide slowly up his back to his shoulders. “How do you know that isn’t what I’m feeling?” he murmured near Harry’s ear. “Harry, you should have told me. You should have let me help.”_

_It was all he could do not to lay his cheek on the back of Draco’s hand. “There was nothing you could do, nothing anyone could do. Ginny’s tried. She’s searched everywhere for something, anything…”_

_“But she isn’t a potions expert. And _I am_. Severus told me once there wasn’t a spell, hex or curse that didn’t have a counter measure, that it was only a matter of finding it. Won’t you please, at least, let me try?” _

_Harry shrugged off Draco’s hand and turned, forcing himself to look directly into his eyes. “Why?” he asked._

_Draco blinked. “Why? Because if we do nothing, the curse will kill you.”_

_“I don’t understand why you care,” Harry murmured. “We were just fucking, isn’t that what you told me?” Suddenly furious, he pulled his jumper off over his head and threw it aside, revealing his chest and shoulder, arm and neck in one angry flourish. He had only looked at his scars once in the bathroom mirror, but he knew what Draco was seeing. Ugly black, red and purple lesions, puckering what had once been smooth tawny skin, traveling from the palm of his right hand, up his arm and onto his shoulder and the right side of his chest. They continued up his throat and marred the right side of his face, puckering his brow and pulling his eye down at the outer corner. He looked like something out of a nightmare, and he knew it. “Still want to fuck this, Draco?” he asked coarsely. “Because this is all I have to offer you now.”_

_Draco stared at him, nostrils flared, eyes narrowed. His lips looked tight and his jaw hard, and Harry was certain what he was seeing was revulsion. Suddenly ashamed of himself, he scooped up his jumper to put it back on when Draco’s hand curled hard around his wrist._

_“You stupid son of a bitch,” Draco ground out between clenched teeth. “How dare you assume to know what I would or wouldn’t want.” He grabbed the jumper from Harry’s fist and tossed it aside. “How dare you count yourself for so little.” He grabbed Harry’s shoulders and pushed him onto his back, then leaned over him, pinning him to the floor. “And how _dare_ you reduce what we had to a meaningless fuck. So help me, Potter, you make me so fucking angry.” His face was hovering above Harry’s, they were separated by mere inches, and Harry felt his breath shorten and his throat grow tight. “Sometimes I want to beat the living crap out of you, and other times…” He stared into Harry’s eyes, and Harry saw his pupils dilate and a pink flush spread across his high, perfect cheekbones. “Other times, I just…” With an angry exhalation, Draco speared his fingers into Harry’s hair and brought his mouth down over his._

_Harry stiffened in shock. He hadn’t been kissed since the last time he’d kissed Draco five years before. And then, he’d still looked like himself. He’d still looked… normal. Now he was this diseased, disfigured creature, and Draco was still kissing him as if he was pouring his soul into his mouth. Harry gasped, and the parting of his lips provided Draco the opportunity to thrust his tongue between his teeth._

_Harry groaned, his body arching up, desperate for Draco’s weight. Apparently sensing it, Draco straddled him, lying on his chest and arching forward with his hips. The weight on his swelling cock and the feeling of all of the lithe strength on top of him made Harry’s heart pound, but he couldn’t just mindlessly take what was being offered. Not without knowing what was driving Draco. He leveraged his hands between their bodies and pushed up against Draco’s shoulders, and when their lips parted, Draco stared down at him, his eyes wide and his lips swollen._

_“Harry,” he gasped. “What…?”_

_Harry studied the flushed face, his chest heaving. “Just, tell me why, Draco,” he said breathlessly. “I need to know – _why?_ ”_

_“Why?” Draco said incredulously. “Because I love you, you moron.”_

_In his wildest dreams, Harry hadn’t imagined that response. And hearing the words, spoken with such raw desire, brought tears to his eyes. “Oh, God, Draco,” he gasped. “God, I love you, too.”_

_“Good,” Draco said against this mouth, and there were no more words, and it was all Harry remembered and nothing he’d ever felt before in his life. For those raw minutes in front of the fire, he could forget the scars, forget the sentence hanging over his head and allow himself to just feel._

_Draco’s drugging kisses went on and on, until Harry caught him by his narrow hips and flipped him onto his back, pressing down between his spread thighs. He rocked into Draco’s pelvis, and Draco groaned._

_“Harry,” he gasped, fingers curling into the muscles on either side of Harry’s spine. “I want you. I want you so much.”_

_“Draco,” Harry groaned against his face. “Are you sure?”_

_Draco grabbed handfuls of Harry’s hair on either side of his head and pulled him back to look into his eyes._

_“Do I look confused to you?” he asked tightly, his eyes flashing. “I haven’t been with anyone since you. I haven’t _wanted_ anyone since you. Can we please stop talking now?”_

_Harry allowed himself one brief smile before reaching for his wand._

_He was not ordinarily a fan of sexual spells. He preferred to do things the ‘old fashioned’ way, but in that instance he thought if had to wait even a moment longer he might explode. He murmured a spell to banish their clothes._

_The Healers supposition about Harry’s infection was that the Expelliarmus he’d cast on Voldemort had somehow reacted to the killing curse, and the force of the collision had pushed some of the unforgivable magic along the path of the spell towards Harry’s heart. That was why the scarring ran up his arm to his chest, up his neck onto his face, and around the lightning bolt scar. But his legs and everything from the waist down were undamaged, and he’d never been quite so glad as he was when Draco rolled him to his back, then leaned over him and took his cock into his mouth. Thinking he’d be denied this for the rest of his life, however long that might be, Harry very nearly lost it the moment he felt the wet heat._

_“I can’t take much of that,” he gasped, his hands in Draco’s hair. “It’s been too long, and I can’t…”_

_“Don’t you dare come yet,” Draco warned him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I want to come with you inside of me.”_

_It was all Harry could do not to whimper, and when Draco _accio’d_ oil from the kitchen and poured some into his hand, stroking the straining length of his prick, he bit his lower lip until it bled. After the briefest time with oil on his long fingers and his hand moving behind his balls, Draco held Harry’s hard cock perpendicular to his body, positioned himself, and eased slowly down. _

_The tight heat of it was almost too much, and Draco’s gasp and grimace made Harry think they’d gone too far, too quickly. But then he saw Draco close his eyes and regulate his breathing, and after a moment the tightness eased and he slid slowly down until he was seated on Harry’s groin._

_He reached out blindly with his hands, and Harry caught them in both of his, linking their fingers. Draco leaned forward, kissing Harry’s lips, then the scarred cheek, throat, and shoulder._

_“I love you,” he murmured into the damaged skin. “I love you so much.”_

_“I love you, too.”_

_Harry planted his feet and began to move upwards in shallow thrusts. Draco whined in the back of his throat, rocking in counterpoint, arching his back until he gasped, and Harry knew he’d found just the right angle._

_“Oh, Christ,” Draco moaned. “There, right there.”_

_It didn’t take long after that. Harry managed to hold off until after Draco came, crying out and painting Harry’s chest and neck with gleaming stripes of white. But when his body tightened down hard around Harry’s cock, and his fingers squeezed Harry’s in a punishing grip, he let himself go, back arched and teeth clenched, as he spilled inside the man who’d haunted his dreams for five years._

_Draco collapsed on his chest and Harry held him, grateful beyond words, pressing kisses onto his face and forehead, stroking his damp back with long, tender strokes. “I’ve missed you,” Draco whispered. “So much.”_

_“I’ve missed you, too,” Harry responded._

_“And you mustn’t give up,” Draco went on, his hands moving over Harry’s shoulders and down his arms. “You have to let me try. There might still be something, some combination of things that haven’t been tried yet. I’ll go back through Severus’ lab books and his library. I’ll even petition McGonagall to let me search the Restricted Section at Hogwarts. There might be something…”_

_He went on, and Harry listened, absently stroking his long spine. He listened to the determination in Draco’s voice, and allowed himself to hope that there might be something, somewhere. But even if there wasn’t, and their time was limited, he knew that time they had would be -- **perfect.** _

~*~

“…and so the Prince, being a very persuasive fellow, convinced the Hermit that a love like theirs was worth more than diamonds and rubies, and could even fix things everyone else thought broken forever.”

“Things like what, Daddy?” Giselle asked. 

“Oh, well, like their hearts, for one thing.” 

Harry smiled. And more than their hearts, as it turned out. 

Without even realizing it, that night while they lay in charmed afterglow on the Grimmauld Place sitting room floor, the cure Draco planned to search for had already been administered. For someone whose entire life had been defined by the power of love, it shouldn’t have come as a shock to Harry that ‘the power the Dark Lord knew not’ had been precisely what was needed to break the curse. And in one of those ‘it could only happen to Harry Potter’ plot twists, they’d conceived Giselle that night, too. 

It had taken a while for the vivid coloring of the scars to fade. Harry’s skin never regained the smooth elasticity of before, and the tightness around his mouth and eye remained, but because Draco didn’t see it, Harry stopped seeing it as well. He reunited with Ron and Hermione, and the Ministry was only too happy to welcome him back into the DMLE. Where his life had been cursed, it was now charmed. And no one could have been more grateful.

“Did the Prince and the Hermit get married, Daddy?” Mikey asked. Draco smiled and tucked his shining fringe back. 

“They did, indeed.”

“Just like you and Daddy,” the little boy went on solemnly. 

“Exactly like him and Daddy,” Harry said, and his children turned, eyes wide and smiles brilliant. 

“Papa!”

A small stampede of little feet sounded, and Harry effortlessly swept both of his children up in his arms, bestowing hugs amidst the giggles. “Aren’t the two of you up pretty late?” he said, looking over their heads at his partner, who was gracefully unwinding himself from the floor and standing.

“They were exceptionally good,” Draco said. “And their reward was waiting up for you and a treat to be decided on when you got home.”

“Hmm,” Harry said, pretending thoughtfulness. He kissed each child on the cheek and set them on their feet. “Well, there’s still some cockroach clusters.”

“Ewww!” The children cried in unison. 

“No? Well, then perhaps more hot cocoa and Gramma Molly’s sugar biscuits will have to do.” 

There were happy, rambunctious cheers and at his urging, the children trooped ahead of them down the stairs to the kitchen.

Draco came to him, leaning in for the kiss Harry placed on his lips. “Hello,” he said with a seductive smile. 

“Hello, there.” Harry wrapped his arm around Draco’s shoulders as they started for the stairs. 

“How was your meeting?”

“Typical, as far meetings go,” Harry said dismissively. “How’s the new lab assistant working out?”

Draco shrugged. “She’ll be fine in oh, six months or so.” 

Harry chuckled. “She’s a quick study, then.” Draco smacked him lightly on the bum.

“Papa!” A child shouted up the stairs. 

“Yes?” Harry answered as he and Draco started down. 

“Can we have one biscuit, or two?”

“Oh, I think….” He pretended to mull it over. “Three!” More childish cheers drifted up the stairs. 

“They’re small,” he said to Draco when he gave him a pointed look. 

“We’ll see if you’re still saying that when they’re zooming around the room in an hour on a sugar high.”

“But see, I’m married to this brilliant potion master, and he’s a whiz at sleeping draughts.”

Draco gave him a wry look. “As if I’d drug my children merely to counteract your lax parenting.”

“Says the man who’s already been feeding them hot cocoa for the better part of an hour.”

“Oh, bite me,” Draco said, moving ahead of Harry down the stairs. 

“You tell me where and I’ll see if I can’t oblige.” 

Draco sent him a sly smile over his shoulder, and Harry returned it, then watched a particularly fine arse in snug denim as he went down the stairs. 

All things considered, Harry realized, thinking of the abridged fairy tale Draco had been telling the children, this was probably as close to happily ever after as he was likely to get.


End file.
